


To Play The Game

by thewriterthatwaspromised



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: GRMM, Game of Thrones - Freeform, George R R Martin, Jon and Sansa - Freeform, Multi, a song of ice and fire - Freeform, jonsa, not jonerys friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterthatwaspromised/pseuds/thewriterthatwaspromised
Summary: The long night is almost upon them- still the Game of Thrones wages on. On the brink of two wars in which both results depend on the outcome of each other, Jon Snow struggles with his growing feelings for his “half-sister” Sansa Stark. Unbeknowingly to him, she two struggles with the same feelings. When a secret is finally revealed to the Stark Clan which allows Jon and Sansa to drop all pretense and face the true nature of their relationship, the others arrive- and everything goes to hell.





	1. Dance Of Deceit

Jon Snow had safely arrived back at Winterfell. He mounted off his horse, adjusted his cloak and pat the mare’s back. The snow crunched beneath his boots and he exhaled. Home. _He was home_. He knew he was home before he’d even arrived at Winterfell because of the fresh air and the clean breeze that had slapped his face. The South smelt like horseshit. He still didn’t understand why people wanted to live there, let alone sit on that worthless throne made of Iron. He’d rather die from the harsh conditions and peril that awaited him in the North, than suffer a meaningless death fighting over that useless clunk of metal. As he walked nearer to the gates, he saw three figures come into view. His heart contracted. His legs would have probably gave out if not for the strong hold he had on his horses reins. He was overcome with such an array of emotions. One’s he had not allowed himself to feel in Dragonstone- could not let himself feel. A childlike sort of ecstasy came about him as he beheld those figures. His family. His pack. 

Bran. Arya. Sansa. _Sansa_.

He quickened his pace not even paying mind to the way he dragged his horse along with him. Behind him, he knew Davos was smiling. The gates opened and Arya marched toward him. Small, she was still so small. But gone was his little sister. For the girl- the woman- who stood before him now looked fierce. Unyielding. Strong. And strapped to her side was needle; the sword Jon had demanded was crafted specially for her. His heart swelled upon seeing that smallsword. And her eyes sparkled. Just her eyes alone spoke of so much raw emotion. So many unsaid words. They reached out for each other. And Jon did fall to his knees then as he threw his arms around her. Squeezing her tightly as if to make sure she was real. That she was there.

“Jon,” She said. Her voice cracking only slightly.

Arya,” He said quietly. 

After they had both confirmed one another to be real, they let go of each other. 

He looked down at her. “Look’s like you learned how to use that sword.” Jon said with a small smile. 

She grinned. “I still use the very first lesson you gave to me.”

“Oh?” He asked innocently.

Her grin became wolf-like. “First lesson,” She said. “Stick em with the pointy end.”

His eyes sparkled. “Aye,”

He walked toward Bran with a more resigned smile. He’d been warned about Bran. He wasn’t the same as before. Not the Bran that had such bright eyes. Not the Bran that had dreamed of being a knight. Not the bran that climbed the castle walls with such joy. No, he’d never climb again. The world had been too cruel to Bran- cruel to them all- but far too cruel to Bran. His childhood snatched away. His youth taken too soon. He clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a gentle smile. Bran’s face was devoid of emotion- he couldn’t feel anything anymore, but his hand still reached to cover Jon’s. And it was better than nothing.

“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you dead.” Jon whispered.

Bran looked up from his hand on top of his brother’s. “I always knew our paths would cross again. I’ve always been there with you. Always been watching. Even if you didn’t know.”

Too grave. His voice sounded too grave, too wise for someone so young. But Jon nodded his head all the same. 

“I would like to speak to you. When you’re well enough rested. There is much I wish to discuss with you.”

Jon nodded his head and squeezed his brothers shoulder again. “Of course.”

And finally, he looked to her. To Sansa. Sansa whom he had tried and failed to get out of his head for several months. Sansa who’s beautiful auburn hair flowed gently with the wind. Sansa who was still so breathtakingly beautiful that Jon thought he was going to be sick. He wondered if she knew. Knew that it was her name that he whispered amongst the nights stars. And only her name- the thought of her that had given him the strength to carry out such dishonourable acts. Only thoughts of her could drive out the darkness. Only thoughts of her could bring in the light. How the winds whispered her name. How his soul longed for her. And as he looked at her, the red-headed goddess he so wished was not his sister, how her eyes sparkled when she beheld him…Yes, he thought. There was no doubt in his mind. For Sansa, he would gladly wreck himself in two.

“Sansa-” He began and was interrupted for he heard the galloping of more horses. Horses that signalled she had arrived. 

Jon looked at Sansa and kissed her forehead. He drew back slowly.  They stared at each other. There was ice and fire and understanding. He nodded at her and she nodded back. Later. They would speak later. 

For the dragon queen had arrived amongst the wolves. And wolves did not let outsiders in to their pack. 

Jorah helped Daenery’s Targaryen dismount her horse. And she walked toward Jon. A smile on her face- the smile of a lover. Jon gave back what he thought was his best sensual grin. At least that was what he thought, until Sansa subtly (and quite hardly) kicked the back of his leg. The dragon queen stood beside Jon proudly. Impatiently. Expectant. It was only Bran whom inclined his head to acknowledge her status.

“Your grace.” He said plainly.

But Arya stood defiantly her chin raised high and Sansa seemed to be sizing her up. Daenery’s eyes flared with rage but she did not speak. Sansa finally bowed- to Jon. 

“Welcome home, your grace.” She said sweetly. 

Jon inclined his head. “Thank you, Sansa.” 

Sansa then turned to the dragon queen and bowed. “Your grace,” She said courteously. Ever a Queen.  

Daenery’s understood then. She wasn’t exactly disregarding her status. She was simply acknowledging Jon’s claim before her own. She didn’t know what to make of it. 

“Welcome to Winterfell, your grace.” Sansa began. “I hope you’ll find the room prepared for you to your standards. Everything is ready for your immediate use.”

“Thank you,” Dany said. “And where will my dragons stay? I assume you have prepared a place for them also?” She questioned.

But before Sansa could reply, Jon stepped in and said firmly. “Sansa is the lady of Winterfell and a princess. It is not her place to make such arrangements. The grounds master will see too it they are put in a suitable place.”

Dany looked up at Jon and furrowed a brow (though her heart still leaped when she saw him and filled her with joy), she was surprised. And puzzled. Slowly, she nodded. He smiled at her and she returned it back happily. But looking at Sansa, she wondered why it had been failed to have mentioned The Lady Of Winterfell was so beautiful. And why she had received misinformation on the nature of Jon and Sansa’s relationship. Because from the fierce way he defended her and the dutiful and loving way she had first acknowledged him, Dany knew it wasn’t an estranged one as she had been led to believe.

“If that is all,” Said Sansa. “I have a lot of paperwork to oversee before we dine.” She turned to Jon. “Your Grace?” She asked. Asking to be dismissed.

He nodded. Giving her such a tender and loving look. One Daenery’s had never seen directed at her. 

“Aye,” Jon said to his lady-sister. “I’ll see you before we dine.” 

Sansa left then. Gathering up her skirts in her hands so it wouldn’t trudge through the snow. With one last grin at Jon (ignoring Dany completely), Arya followed whilst wheeling Bran away. Sansa waited for them to catch up. Brienne bowed before Jon and then trailed after the two girls. 

Bran called out “We’ll talk when you’ve rested Jon.” 

Daenery’s turned to Jon and took his hands in hers. “So that wen’t well.”

A small smile. “It wen’t well considering.”

“They hate me!”

“Not hate you exactly-”

She gave him a look of complete and utter disbelief.

He huffed a laugh. “They may completely and wholeheartedly dislike you, but they don’t hate you. They’ll come to realise the help you offer the North is invaluable. They’ll come to see you for what you are. Salvation.”

She cocked her head. “And what of what I am to you?” 

He kissed her cheek lightly and stepped away from her. 

“The dragons will be arriving soon. After they have come, rest. Refresh yourself. I’ll see you at the feast.”

She smiled and gave a little nod all whilst reluctantly letting his hand go. Jon gave Davos a look. An order. He bowed to him. And bowed slightly to Dany before setting off. 

She watched Jon plod through the snow toward the castle as Missande, Jorah and Tyrion came to her side. They’d just got to Winterfell. Her and Jon had come together. So why did she feel she had already lost him?

***

Jon stood before Sansa’s chamber and knocked twice. Brienne opened the door. She bowed. 

“Who is it, Brienne?” Sansa queried.

“It’s his grace, my lady.”

Immediately she replied “Let him in. And leave us.”

Brienne bowed. “Your grace. Princess Sansa.”

The heavy doors of the chambers shut and Sansa shot up and dropped whatever she had been sowing. They stared at each other for a long while and then- Jon didn’t know who had reached for who first. All he knew was that Sansa was in his arms and no matter how hard he tried, he could not press her close enough to his body. She nuzzled her head into his neck and he sighed. Smoothing down her hair and letting her scent fill him up. 

“I missed you.”

He continued to stroke her hair. “And I missed you.” he said roughly.

Sansa thought it’d never be enough- what she had with Jon. But it was all she would ever get. So she would take it. Any moment with him was better than nothing at all. 

There was a knock on the door and they quickly sprung apart. Sansa straightened her gown. 

“Who is it?” She called.

“Davos, my lady.”

“Enter.” She said.

He came in to the room and made sure to check there was no one listening before he shut the door. 

Sansa looked to Jon. “She believes you? She believes that you truly intend to surrender the North to her?”

Jon nodded and Davos said “Aye. There were no witnesses.”

“She suspects nothing?”

Jon said “Not a thing.”

Sansa nodded. “Good. And how do you plan to hold her to her promise that she’ll help the North when the army of the dead is to arrive?”

Jon’s expression turned grave. “She is in love with me… and believes me to be in love with her.”

Sansa’s heart stopped. Her eyes turned cold. “And are you?”

Jon furrowed a brow.

“In love with her I mean!” She said gruffly.

Jon blinked. Did Sansa seem… angry? But he looked back at her and thought he must have been mistaken.

“No.” He said seriously. “I’m not in love with her.”

Relief seeped through Sansa. Not that she’d ever let him know. If he knew the reasons behind her anger… he’d be disgusted by her. Absolutely revolted.

She stepped closer to him. “You truly believe her participation will have an impact on the outcome of this war?”

Jon couldn’t breathe. Not with Sansa this close to him. He wanted to grab her face and kiss her lips- her soft sweet red lips and he wanted to-

“Jon?”

He coughed. “She has a good heart. Despite her being consumed by her quest for the Iron Throne… she will help. And with her dragons, they will have a massive impact- thousands of lives could be saved. 

She nodded. But Jon’s eyes were sad. Davos saw it and pitted Jon. Pitied Sansa. But he did not speak a word when she grabbed Jon’s two hands and led him to sit with her. 

“I know you don’t like doing such dishonourable things Jon- you’re much like father in that regard.”

He sighed heavily. But continued to listen to her valuable words.

“But to play the game, you have to resort to tricks. You have to use deceit. You have to play dirtily. It’s the only way that we’ll survive. We can’t make any mistakes. We- Arya and Bran and the North, we can’t afford to lose you and our home. I can’t afford to lose you.” She exhaled a breath. She didn’t let go of his hands. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. “Aye, I understand.”

_**To play the game, he had to play dirty. And so their dance of deceit began.** _


	2. Everything You’ll See Has Happened Before

 

Daenerys Targaryen had much better things to do than parade up and down the halls of a castle and attend great feasts. Every second that was spent in Winterfell, was a second gone to waste. She had taken her sizeable forces and abandoned Dragonstone- the **_previous_ ** high seat of her ancestral power, Cersei Lannister could be seizing it. Taking it back under her control. It was how she operated, Cersei. She took what she wanted. Despite her promise of a cease-fire, Daenerys knew better. Cersei’s words meant nothing, they were meaningless. All she promised were empty words- oathbreaker. This was one of the few things- perhaps the **_only_ ** thing that kept her from deserting Winterfell, gathering her army, mounting Drogon and burning Cersei and all she held dear once and for all. She had promised the North- **_promised Jon_ ** that she would help. And so help was what she would give them. _She was not like Cersei._ No, for her word were _oath_ . It was Jon she thought of when her mind readily urged her to leave the North undefended. Jon whom she _thought_ was so much like her. He was brave, and was kind, and he was honourable and he was unwaveringly loyal to his people- **_to the realm_ **. He did everything without regard for himself. He only cared about the safety of others. And she admired him greatly for it. No, she would not leave Jon. He was the best man she knew.

 

She still did not understand what was so special about Winterfell; the castle that Jon held so dearly in his heart. The castle that he was so happily willing to return too as long as he could leave Dragonstone immediately. Leave her, immediately. It wasn’t as cold as she imagined. She could admit that. On their journey when she had begun to complain of how cold it would be, Jon had only laughed and told her that Winterfell had been built over a hot spring and so searing water ran through the castle walls. And indeed, Jon had not lied for she felt that heat warming the castle’s rooms. But heat aside,  it wasn’t particularly impressive to Daenerys. When she had asked Jon why he loved it so much, he had replied with his eyes full of incredulity and wonder. “Winterfell was where I grew up”, he’d said. “It’s my home. It’s where I feel the most at peace”. Yes, she knew he loved it. It was his home. She’d never had a home. Not really. But the chambers that had been given to her were magnificent- Lady Sansa had not lied. The room had been decorated in the colours of her house: red and black. They were of a pleasing size- that of a Lord and Lady chambers. She would’ve thought it were if not for the knowledge she had received that the Lord and Lady chambers belonged to Lady Sansa. That Jon had given them to her. She hadn’t anticipated Jon’s bond with all his siblings to be so strong. She’d known of Lord Brandon and Lady Arya- been there when Jon had received a letter to inform him his two half siblings were in fact alive. But he had never spoken of Lady Sansa- would not have known of her existence if not for Lord Tyrion mentioning her in passing, saying that Jon had left her there in his stead. To rule. She’d left it down to them having an estranged relationship; Jon and his lady-sister not being very close. But she’d seen them. Seen the way they had interacted. Seen the way Jon looked at her. The way his eyes regarded her with such a tender affection- the most vulnerable expression she’d ever seen on his face. Seen him look at her in a way she’d never seen him look at her.

 

But she had to remind herself that trust, trust was built over time. Jon Snow was a man that had been betrayed many times over- at least from the whispers she’d heard. And when you had been betrayed by the very people you thought never would, you put up impenetrable barriers and once they were up, they took time to be let down. It would take time for Jon to trust her. For him to let her in the way she had. She would be patient and understanding until he was ready. And he would be soon enough. At least that’s what she told herself over and over again. There was a knock at the heavy clad door and Daenerys turned away from her place at the window where she had been watching laughing children shoot arrows and engaging in swordplay.

 

“Whom is it?” She called.

 

“Lord Tyrion, your grace.” Was the reply.

 

A pause and then “Enter.”

 

Tyrion entered the room with such a grave expression, that Daenerys was instantly anxious. Trailing behind him, was Missandei. They bowed deeply.

 

“What is it?” Daenerys commanded. “Is it word from Dragonstone? Has Cersei seized it and taken it back from my control?”

 

Tyrion shook his head. “No, your grace. Dragonstone remains untouched if Vary’s spies are to be believed. Dragonstone remains under your control, for now, your grace.”

 

The set of her shoulders ever so slightly relaxed. Good. It meant there was one problem she didn't need to worry about. At least right now. But Tyrion’s face was still tight and there was weariness in his eyes.

 

“If there is something you wish to say to me Lord Tyrion, speak now. I must prepare to dine with the Starks, soon.”

 

“Your grace?”

 

“I can see the expression on your face. If there is something you wish to discuss, let it be said now.”

 

Tyrion looked to his left. At Missandei. Tyrion knew the girl was completely trustworthy. But whatever he had to say, he did not want it said in front of her. In front of anyone. She nodded her understanding. She looked at the girl: her handmaiden, her most trusted advisor, a loyal servant and a most dear friend. She smiled internally.

 

“Missandei, find Ser Jorah and ask him if he’s heard word on Vary’s arrival. As soon as you’ve done that, come back here and help prepare me for the feast.”

 

She bowed, catching the dismissal. “Your grace.” She murmured and with that, she left.

 

When the door closed and the faint sound of Missandei’s footsteps walking along the hall could be heard no longer, she turned to her hand.

 

“Whatever you wish to say, say now. It shan’t be long before she returns.”

 

Again, that weary look passed in his eyes. But he spoke nonetheless. “Your grace,” he begun. “It has come to my attention that the nature of your relationship with Jon Snow has… changed.”

 

Oh. **_Oh_ ** . Daenerys was most thoroughly amused. So they were having _that_ conversation.

 

“Yes.” She replied. A sparkle in her eyes.

 

He continued somewhat reluctantly. “Well, whilst always ultimately your choice and completely down to you, as your hand, I find it my duty to advise that you could perhaps pursue a union that would prove more… advantageous.”

 

The amusement had left her at once. “And what union would prove more advantageous than the one between Jon and myself?” She snapped.

 

Tyrion did not dare speak.

 

“The North is the biggest of the seven kingdoms- it is nearly as big as all of the other six kingdoms **_combined_ **!” Ire flashed in her violet eyes. “A union between us would unite both The North and The South. We would be undefeatable- a force to be reckoned with.  Tell me, who would dare oppose us? Who would dare stand against such mighty forces?”

 

She walked closer to Tyrion and stared down at her hand venom dripping from her voice

 

“Let me make myself clear. Yes, you are my hand and your counsel is invaluable. But like you stated, I shall choose whom I engage myself with and it is none- **_none_ **\- of your concern. I shall not hear another word on the matter again- have I made myself clear Lord Tyrion?”

 

“But, your grace-”

 

“I shall **_not_ ** hear of it again.” She paused for a breath. A deadly pause. And then. “Unless of course, you have reason to believe there is something amiss.”

 

A slight hesitation- one Daenerys did not see- and then. “No, your grace.”

 

“Then we shall never speak of it again. **_Am. I. Understood_ **?”

 

A slow nod. “Yes, your grace.”

 

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Missandei entered.

 

She turned away from them. “Leave us.” She said to Tyrion. “You are dismissed.”

 

She assumed he bowed as she heard him mumble “Your grace.”

 

Daenerys sighed a heavy sigh. She had to start preparing for the feast.

 

***

 

“And you are sure of what you saw, Bran?” Jon Snow asked his brother for what had to be the sixth time.

 

Bran nodded. “I saw It Jon. The army of the dead are coming. The wall has come down. They are coming toward Winterfell.”

 

Jon closed his eyes and sighed. He crouched down beneath the massive heart tree. The bright red eyes carved into the tree that reminded Jon so much of blood. Blood that would soon be spilled. The blood of his people.

 

“And Jon,” Bran called out in that new impassive voice of his. “The Night King. He has a dragon.”

 

Jon stood up and whirled around. His eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets.

 

“What did you say?” Jon whispered.

 

He wasn’t breathing. _Couldn't breathe._ The Night King had a dragon. Had Viserion. And it was all his fault. Too many. There were too many thoughts whirling around in Jon’s head. The only thing that kept him tethered to earth, that kept him from disappearing off with the cascade that were his thoughts was Sansa. Sansa who gingerly took his fingers within his own and squeezed them tightly. Sansa who would not allow him break in the face of this threat. Sansa who gave him strength. Sansa whom made him believe they had a chance at survival despite the miserable odds. Sansa whom had given him purpose when all hope was lost. **_Sansa._ **Her name was a prayer on his lips.

 

“We’ll endure Jon.” A faint smile. “We Starks always do.”

 

He returned her smile and he stroked her fingers gently. “Aye,” He said. “We do.”

 

And delight flashed in her eyes. It was the first time she had heard him acknowledge he was a Stark. It brought her great joy, even if now, she wished he was not a Stark- for all the wrong reasons.

 

She brought his hands to her lips and kissed it softly all whilst looking at him as she did so. A ripple of emotion broke out across his face, one she was about to try to identify and then-

 

“Jon,” Arya’s voice called.

 

Jon, Sansa and Bran looked to the owner of that voice. Sansa dropped Jon’s hand slowly and Jon looked away from Sansa, the moment lost.

 

“Arya,” Jon said with a smile. The smile that soon turned to a frown as she saw whom walked behind her.

 

Tyrion Lannister was in the Godswood. With Arya. Which meant he was looking for him. His frown deepened- it could not mean anything good.

 

When Tyrion had come close enough that they could hear him, Jon cautioned him.

 

“Come no further, Lord Tyrion. This is the Godswood where the old gods rule and the weirwood sees all,” ire flashed in his eyes. “You have no place here.” Jon whispered.

 

Tyrion had the good sense to look both embarrassed and remorseful.

 

Arya sensing the tension, smiled at Jon, apology flashing in her eyes. “Lord Tyrion found me whilst I was making my way to you. He was asking for you,” She said. “I tried to tell him we were having a family meeting- a reunion of sorts, when he insisted it was a matter of urgency. And I doubted you would want me to decapitate one of our only allies in the war so… I brought him to you.”

 

Jon had to put in an effort to hide his smirk. “It would be quite inconvenient.” He looked to the dwarf. “Lord Tyrion?”

 

The dwarf took a slightly terrified look at Arya, a weary glance at Bran and a relieved look at the familiarity (and no doubt the normalcy), of Sansa.

 

“I would prefer if this conversation took place alone.”

 

Jon’s face turned hard. “Anything you have to say, can be said in front of my family.”

 

Jon would not hide anything from them. Not after all they had endured. He had just gotten them back and he would **_not_ ** risk losing the opportunity to once again build the strong bond they once had because of something as trivial as distrust.

 

Surprisingly, it was Bran who spoke. “It’s fine Jon. We can speak after the feast.”

 

And though it had been a small gesture, Jon knew what it meant and his heart warmed. Bran was giving Jon his trust. Trust that he knew Jon would inform them later. And with that small gesture, Jon saw the ghost of the Bran that had once existed. Knew he was still there in there deep down. He looked to Arya who nodded, she too giving him her trust. And finally to Sansa, her face staying neutral but a squeeze of his fingers answering his unspoken question.

 

Jon nodded. So Arya went over to Bran’s chair and began to wheel him away from the Godswood. Back to the castle. But when Sansa had bowed to Tyrion and Jon preparing to leave, Jon had grabbed her hand. She stared at those hands for such a long time until she finally looked up to his face. With Jon, it was all about knowing where to look. Where his face showed no emotion, his eyes always told a tale. And right now, they were soft. Gentle.

 

“Stay.” He said quietly.

 

Her heart softened. Her spirit sang. Always, she had wanted to say. She would stay with him until her last day, until she was nothing but ash and dust and soil. Even then, her soul would follow him into the ether. She would stay with him, always. Follow him anywhere. She nodded her head and took her place by his side.

 

Tyrion was studying them very closely. Jon raised a brow.

 

At once, Tyrion harshly said “When I told you to find a way to get My Queen to listen, to act less rationally, I did not mean you should do it by finding your way into her bed.”

 

Jon’s stomach lurched at the words- at the memory. He was horrified. Not that he had slept with her, no, he would do it a thousand times over if it meant ensuring the safety of his people- of his family and friends. He felt sick because he didn’t know how Sansa would receive the news.

 

Jon began to speak in a hurry. “You’re the one who told me to use her affection for me as a means to make her listen. I had to give her reason to believe I too returned the sentiment, so I did. Unless there was another way I could have done so?”

 

The annoyance and anger that had been building up in Sansa cooled. She was still furious, furious that he had to sleep with her in order for his position to be secured but… she understood. It was all a part of the game. She had told him to be smarter than Robb, smarter than Father. And he was being smarter. He was using the Dragon Queens affection’s to bend her to his will- for the good of the North and his family. For the good of Westeros. She knew he didn’t enjoy doing it from the regretful look in his eyes but, he had listened to her. Truly listened. He valued and cherished her opinion. Recognised her ability to play the game. Realised her advice to be indispensable. She could see him trying to tell her so. Willing her to understand what he was trying to convey. Another squeeze of the hand as if to say yes. I do understand. The set of his shoulder relaxed.

 

Lord Tyrion said “Do not think I do not understand the implications of having Daenerys ear in this war. It means she will be willing to listen to your advice- maybe even feel inclined to take it. It seems to be proving far more beneficial to you than you are letting on.”

 

Jon’s face became merciless. “You asked me to do this.” He said quietly. “I am doing it.”

 

“But I did not know the depths of her affections!” Tyrion cried exasperated. “You must withdraw at once.”

 

Sansa interrupted. “Withdraw?” She asked. Incredulity lacing her tone. “What you’ve done would be seen as treason. Conspiring with those who rival the Queen for power to rein in her temper. You are lucky Jon even agreed to it in the first place! If it ever got out, Daenerys Targaryen would have your head. _Jon’s head_ .” Her voice had shaken there. “Have his head,” She continued. “Because he chose to help **_you._ **”

 

Tyrion bowed his head and said “Lady Sansa-”

 

“Lord Tyrion.” She said. Coldly. Unyielding. Boldly. “You should be more appreciative of the help my brother has so kindly lended you. Besides, if he did as you wished, who’s to say _your_ Queen won’t lose her temper? It is notorious her temper. I’ve been told all about it. The minute Jon stops playing lover to your beloved Queen, you no longer have a way to rein that temper in. She’ll unleash the dragon. And then, who knows what she’ll be capable of.”

 

The fight died out of Tyrion’s eyes. Sansa’s flashed with triumph. Unexpectedly, Tyrion bowed deeply. The ghost of a smile on his sleeps.

 

“I did say you would outlive us all.”

 

“Lord Tyrion,” Jon called out plainly.

 

Tyrion looked back his eyes weary.

 

“As long as you’re at Winterfell it’s _**Princess**_ Sansa.”

 

The dwarf’s eyes glistened sadly. He bowed. “Yes. I suppose it is. Your grace. Princess Sansa.”

And with that, he had left. Trekking through the deep snows of Winter.

 

Sansa turned to Jon. “From everything you told me, she sounds like the mad king.”

 

Jon shook his head. “I know it seems that way, but she’s not. Just very… impulsive.”

 

Sansa raised a brow. “Legends say the mad king was impulsive too. Making decisions without once considering the consequences.”

 

Jon put both of his hands on the sides of her face lightly as he drew her face closer to kiss her forehead. Was it her imagination, or were his lips lingering there? Almost as if he wanted them to... stay there. He glanced at her lips- longingly? It could not be. She was seeing what she wanted to see. She blinked once. Twice. He was staring into her eyes so intently.

 

“You don’t need to worry, Sansa. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

He dropped one hand from the side of her face but before he could drop the other, she put her hand over his. To keep it there.

 

“I’ll always worry where you’re concerned, Jon.”

 

He inhaled her words as if a drug he were addicted too. He knew it was just brotherly affection, knew he shouldn’t even allow himself to dream of it ever being anything else, but in that moment he allowed himself too. To dream, to wonder of a world where Sansa wasn’t his sister. A world where Sansa loved him back.

 

“Daenerys is not her father. When the war is won, when this is all over, we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

 

He closed his hands over hers and put his forehead against hers. Closed his eyes. He let himself enjoy the moment before they went back to attend the feast, and he’d be forced to play the role of her brother.

 

Unknowingly to him, Sansa too closed her eyes and submit to her feelings in that moment. She was worried about him. And not because he was her brother. No, he was something much more. She couldn’t help thinking about Petyr Baelish and something he had told her before she had ordained his death.

 

**_Everything you see will be something that has happened before._ **

  


And as she had her forehead against Jon, breathed in the scent of him, felt him clasp her fingers tightly, she hoped that the spiral of madness that had befallen Aerys Targaryen did not befall Daenerys. Not because of any affection for the Dragon Queen.

  


**_She worried because of what it might mean for Jon._ **

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. A Feast For Dragons, Kings & Other Foretold Things

After their conversation with Lord Tyrion, Jon and Sansa had lingered in the godswood for a while.

Winterfell always felt the most alive in the godswood- and the crypts. Comical considering the crypts were full of Stark dead, but that’s what made it feel so brimming with life. The Starks were the heart of Winterfell and in those two places, the heart seemed to have the strongest presence than anywhere else. They had talked quietly amongst themselves for a while until Sansa decided to go and start preparing herself for the feast. She’d left him almost reluctantly as if she never wanted to leave. Jon had decided to stay there a little bit longer. Surrounded by his father’s gods, he could think a bit more clearly: the forbidden thoughts of Sansa’s lips against his didn’t arise so frequently here because guilt would crash through his body faster than the waters of the broken branch. His Lord father had been a just and honourable man and Jon had been trying to live up to his standards his entire life. If he knew how he were feeling about Sansa… he’d be disgusted. Ashamed. Disappointed. Sansa was _his sister._ It was his job to protect her and love her as a brother should. No more. Drilling that message into his mind, he made his departure from the wood and went to prepare for the feast of welcome.   
  
***

 

Jon to the best of public knowledge was still a King- and Sansa had gone to every effort to make sure everyone did well to remember. That _Daenerys_ did well to remember. He would’ve smiled if not for the danger of such a seemingly small action. The dragon queen could be… difficult. Even the most inconsequential of acts could be interpreted as defiance and it would have _dire_ consequences. He shuddered at the thought. He’d have to speak to Sansa to warn her to ease off of Daenerys lest she rouse her to anger. Jon didn’t want to think of what would happen if the two went head to head. Because if it came down to it and he were forced to make a choice, Jon knew who he would choose. In a heartbeat.

 

He gingerly stroked the sleeve of the new tunic Sansa had made for him. It was made of velvet and was the colour of the deepest prussian blue. The leaves of the heart tree had been faintly woven on to the shoulder pad of each sleeve with golden thread. His high collar was drawn together with a broach made of bronze: two Stark direwolves touching head to head. Despite its elegant simplicity, it was the most elaborate piece of clothing he had ever owned. And Sansa had made it special. Just for him. It warmed his heart with an affection he knew he shouldn’t feel. Still, it lingered in his chest only growing stronger by the day. Part of the reason he’d gone South was to get some separation…  from Sansa. He thought it would help dim his affections- clearly, it had done the exact opposite. He heaved a heavy sigh and looked toward the featherbed. He hadn’t wanted to wear it. Northerners weren’t an ostentatious lot- they didn’t bother with extravagance or unnecessary flamboyant garb. But mostly, he hadn’t wanted to wear it because he didn’t think he deserved too. Didn’t think he had the right too. Sansa and Arya had told him it was nonsense; reassured him that he more than anyone had claim to it. Still, Jon doubted he would ever come to terms with it. And he hoped he never did. Robb’s crown lay on the bed in anticipation. Jon wanted to weep at the sight of it. The crown was an open circlet of polished hammered bronze which was engraved with the runes and symbols of the first men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords. It was beautiful in the overbearing way that symbols of power often were. And it had been Robb’s. The brother he had loved so much, the man for whom he’d have forsaken his vows, the lord whom had been proclaimed the first King In The North in centuries… this was his crown. And it had been given to Jon to wear. With trembling hands, he picked it up tentatively and placed it on his head. It felt burdensome. Still, he would wear it and hope to be as good a leader as the king who wore it before him.

 

 _I’ll make you proud, Robb._ Jon thought to himself. _I promise._

 

There was a knock at the door and he straightened his tunic before clearing his throat.

 

“Enter,” He commanded.

 

Ser Davos came into his chamber and bowed his head.

 

“Your grace,” Davos said quietly.

 

Jon nodded. “It’s time then?”

 

“Aye, your grace. It’s time.”

 

Jon’s face was grave and solemn.

 

Davos eyes sparkled. “One would think you were attending a burial ceremony and not a feast.”

 

They both began to walk toward the great hall.

 

Jon scoffed. “Sansa and Daenerys together in one room? I’d take the burial over that any day.”

 

Ser Davos barked out a dark laugh. It echoed through the corridors.

 

***

 

Sansa sat gracefully at the high table and slowly sipped her wine as she nibbled down on a lemon cake. She had been surprised earlier that morning when she had strolled down to the kitchens to commend the cooks on their extra hard work of late and found baskets of lemons being brought in.

 

“But where did it come from?” She asked bewildered.

 

“His grace requested them special from Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne, Princess Sansa. She obliged him. He told us that lemon cakes are your favourite and that we should try to make the lemons last until the next shipment.”

 

Sansa’s blink was her only indication of surprise. “The- the next shipment?”

 

“Yes, Princess Sansa. King Jon says there’s to be a large shipment every few months until the end of winter.”

 

She blushed at the memory. She couldn’t believe he’d remembered after all this time. It was at castle black the first day they’d reunited. One of the happiest moments she had from her adult life. When talking about her time in king’s landing, she’d mentioned something about lemon cakes being the only thing that could bring the barest sense of joy; her little sunshine in what was her mostly dark joyless past. It was a throwaway comment and he’d remembered. Only the gods knew what kind of deal he’d struck with the Princess of Dorne but he’d done it for her. Such a simple gesture and yet it touched her in a way she couldn’t even begin to describe. She smiled softly. Her people were happy and dancing. Safe. Free and independent from the tyranny of the 7 kingdoms. She intended to keep it that way. **_No matter the cost._**

 

“These are lovely,” A voice called from a couple chairs over.

 

Sansa sighed internally. She turned to face the dragon queen and plastered a sweet expression onto her face. Courtesy was a lady’s armour- a lesson she would never forget.

 

“I’m pleased you enjoy them, your grace.”

 

“I wasn’t aware lemons grew in the North, Lady Sansa.”

 

Sansa’s eye twitched. “They don’t, your grace.”

 

Daenerys looked at Sansa expectantly. Sansa held back a grin. She’d have to do better than that. Far better. Sansa Stark was no fool- she knew how to play the game. She knew she’d won when Daenerys eyes flared and she renewed the conversation with a new topic.

 

“Where is  Jon? He should’ve been here by now.”

 

Sansa picked at her plate very deliberately biding her time. “Jon is a King, your grace. He’s not obliged to arrive at everyone else’s convenience- it’s more so the other way around. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon enough.”

 

Daenerys expression turned cold as she scanned Sansa’s face carefully. “And you? You sit in a place meant for the wife of a King. For a Queen.”

 

Sansa had to refrain from rolling her eyes. “And what of it, your grace?”

 

The dragon queen smiled but it did not meet her eyes. “So if for the duration of my stay here in the North, I am to pretend to be Jon’s equal and _not_ his queen, I should at least have something befitting of my status.”

 

Slowly, Sansa’s temper had been rising. She was **_not_ **Jon’s Queen. Never had been and never would. And if Daenerys Stormborn thought she could march into Sansa’s home and dictate how things were run, she was about to have an extremely rude awakening. Still, she had to maintain courtesies. This alliance was important for them all. Sansa was no battle strategist but she saw how useful two dragons could be on the field. Fire killed wights. Dragons had an infinite amount of fire- it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.

 

She took a deep breath. “I have been sitting in this seat since _King_ Jon and I took back Winterfell. At _his_ request, your grace. The northerners as I’m sure you are aware don’t exactly like you- they certainly don’t trust you. How do you think it would look if the woman they view as a foreign invader takes the place of one of their own northern rulers that they’ve grown to trust and respect immensely?”

 

Daenerys narrowed her eyes but still, Sansa didn’t falter.

 

“Tell me your grace, do you know the kind of message that conveys? Do you think the North would view you more kindly after that? I can assure you it would be the exact opposite.”

 

Daenerys opened her mouth to respond and then all music in the hall ceased.

  


Davos emerged at the large oak iron clad doors. “His Grace Jon Snow. The King In The North.”

 

Jon walked through the grey stone walls of the great hall. His eyes searched the room until his eyes landed on hers. He looked so beautiful Sansa’s heart threatened to spill out of her chest. He was wearing the brand new tunic she’d made for him: it had taken her two whole days to create. She’d been extra careful whilst crafting it because technically, this was his first official appearance as King In The North. That’s why she’s had it brought down to him. _Robb’s crown._ He wore his lovely curly hair down for once- how Sansa preferred it- as he was wearing their brothers crown _._ Sansa’s eyes started to well up when she saw it and she blinked back tears. She hadn’t thought… she was so immensely happy he had chosen to wear it. He was Jon Snow. Her dragonknight. _Her king._ His face lit up at the sight of Sansa and he asked her a question with eyes.

 

 _Playing nice?_ They seemed to say.

 

Sansa smiled sweetly. _Of course I am._

 

Jon chuckled. He knew that meant exactly the opposite. His people knelt to him as he walked past the crowds toward the high table. He made sure to smile at them, to nod back at them and to acknowledge as many of them as he could. He was the shield that guarded the realms of men. He would protect them in all affairs. He got to his chair and was handed a goblet of wine by Daenerys. He kissed her hand courteously. Her returning smile rivalled that of the sun.

 

“Friends, my fellow northmen- our allies, I welcome you all to Winterfell for the welcome feast of Daenerys Targaryen. Queen Daenerys has brought two armies and two of her dragons to the North in order to help us fight against the army of the dead. As your King, I decided to hold this feast no only to honour our allies, but so we may all form stronger bonds and alliances with one another to help smooth over relations once the war is won.”

 

With that, he sat down and raised his goblet. “Let the feast commence!”

 

The people cheered and instantly music and dancing resumed. There was laughter and chatter and happiness radiated off of everyone in the room. Jon wouldn’t subject them to pain again. He’d do _whatever_ necessary to give them the sovereignty they’d bled for. He swore it to the old gods and the new.

 

“Quite a feast you’ve put on for me, Jon Snow.” Daenerys whispered into his ear her voice sultry.

 

He gave her a small grin. “When the dragon comes to dine with you, I think you’ll find it wise to put out your best spread. You’ll know if they don’t like it.”

 

She laughed and stroked his arm. “Then you’re most lucky I do.”

 

“Aye. I am.”

 

“Robb’s crown?” Arya came into view whilst pushing Bran’s chair to his place at the table.

 

Jon nodded his throat suddenly dry.

 

“I’m glad. Robb would’ve wanted you to wear it,”

 

“He would’ve,” Bran interjected as he placed a hand over Jon’s. “And he would’ve been proud of you.”

 

Sansa couldn’t even begin to describe the magnificent picture that was Jon’s reaction to his brothers kind words.

 

Jon drew Bran toward him and kissed his forehead hard. “Thank you, Bran. And Arya. Your words mean more to me than you know.”

 

He threw a meaningful look at Sansa. “And thank you, Sansa. For everything.”

 

She inclined her head. “The North Remembers.” She said quietly.

 

“The North Remembers.” The other Stark’s whispered back.

 

Daenerys stared at the crown on Jon’s head and then at the Starks for a long time clearly displeased. Then, she looked at Sansa as if she’d just figured something out. Sansa returned her look pointedly. This one was no little dove, Daenerys thought to herself. She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

 

“Your tunic is quite splendid, Jon. I never took you for a man interested in such finery.”

 

He blushed. “It was a gift. It’s one of my few prized possessions.”

 

“A- a gift?” Daenerys queried.

 

Arya hadn’t bothered to sit in her chair but was instead perched on the edge of the high table as she indulged in heaps of arbour gold and swiped a lemon cake from Sansa’s plate- she clucked at Arya but not without affection.

 

“Sansa made it for him. She’s quite talented my sister. Knows how to do all sorts of things.”

 

Daenerys smiled tightly. “I’m pleased to know Lady Sansa is so accomplished.”

 

“ _Princess_ Sansa.” Jon corrected harshly.

 

The dragon queen looked at her lover clearly hurt and surprised but he refused to look at her. Instead, he drank deeply from his goblet and engaged in conversation with his family. He hadn’t meant it to come out so harshly.

 

“Dany I-”

 

Daenerys got up from her chair and strolled over to Greyworm, Missandei, Jorah, Tyrion and Vary’s. Her expression was sour.

 

Jon huffed a sigh.

 

“She’s got a temper, your queen doesn’t she?” Arya asked as she successfully poached yet another lemon cake.

 

“You know, there is a whole load of cakes on that plate over there.” Sansa attempted to scold half-heartedly.

 

Arya shrugged. “Yours taste better.”

 

Bran looked as if he were almost smiling. “I’m sure they do,” He said amused.

 

“Aye, she’s got a bit of a temper.” Jon interrupted. “But I suppose so do two other women I know- and they happen to mean the world to me.”

 

Arya rolled her eyes but anyone who knew her could see the slight smile she tried to obscure from everyone.

 

“Well I don’t have a temper,” Sansa began with a dangerous glint in her eye. “I suppose certain people just bring it out in me.”

 

Jon caught the jab and laughed heartily. “Aye, I suppose I do deserve that. I have given you a bit of grief during our time together.”

 

“A bit?”

 

“Fine, I relent! More than a bit. But I’m doing better now- or at least I’m trying too.”

 

Sansa’s teasing ceased momentarily. She kissed his hand reassuringly. “Yes. You’re doing better. Much better.”

 

Jon bowed. “Then your approval is all the encouragement I need, Sansa.”

 

His words were starting to slur together and his cheeks were flushed pink. Still, this was the most fun he’d had in… a long time. His smile was contagious; you couldn’t see it without stopping to smile yourself. Sansa accepted every single cup of wine Arya gave her- she’d even seen Bran have a cup! There was little Sansa Stark wouldn’t do to see Jon Snow smile just a little longer.

 

“My lady,” A male voice called out.

 

Sansa looked up to see a man she didn’t know looking intently at Arya. She was about to correct him politely that it was Princess Arya, but she saw that her sister was smirking and Jon’s face was soft. Open and trusting.

 

“I’m _not_ a lady,” Arya huffed out brusquely. She jumped off the table and glared up and his figure looming over.

 

Her reaction only seemed to further incite him.

 

“You’re right. My sincerest apologies- it’s _Princess_ Arya now, isn’t it?”

 

Arya marched right up to the man and shoved him with vigour. He laughed as he gazed down at her small frame with affection.

 

“You call me Princess again and I’ll make you regret it, Gendry.”

 

Ah Sansa thought. So _this_ was Gendry. Robert Baratheon’s bastard; Jon had told her about him some time ago. Jon had struck up a friendship with him when they’d embarked on their foolhardy mission to capture one of the dead. She didn’t know that he knew Arya though. Still, him being Robert’s bastard may prove to be useful in the future. Though she hoped for both his sake and her siblings that it never did. Sansa tucked the information away into the ever moving cogs that was her brain.

 

He stepped closer to Arya his wicked sensuous grin softening into something more tender. “I missed you, Arya. I know you asked me to come North with you. Yeah I took the long way around but...”

 

There was so many things unsaid in that sentence. So many words unspoken between them.

 

Arya blinked fiercely and cleared her throat. “Well, it bloody well took you long enough.”

 

Gendry’s eyes sparkled. “My deepest apologies, _my lady._ ”

 

Arya didn’t admonish him that time but she did roll her eyes yet again. She turned around to face her siblings. Sansa’s eyes danced in amusement.

 

“Gendry, I’d like you to meet the rest of my siblings. You already know, Jon.”

 

“Your grace,” Gendry murmured as he bowed.

Jon laughed has he shook his head and handed him an ale. “What’s titles amongst friends?”

 

“This is my sister Sansa and my brother Bran.”

 

“Princess Sansa. Prince Bran.”

 

“It’s good to meet you, Gendry.” Sansa said kindly.

 

“Gendry,” Bran said with what was a small smile on his lips. “I’m pleased to finally have the pleasure to meet the bull.”

 

Gendry looked surprised but quickly wiped it from his face. “Is that common knowledge here in the North? That they call me the bull?”

 

Bran was certainly smiling now. “No,” He said simply. “It isn’t.”

 

Arya laughed. “Bran just happens to… know a lot of things. Let’s go Gendry. I want to show you something.”

 

With that, Arya started to saunter out of the great hall and Gendry followed after her as if he were in a desert and she was the only pitcher of water in sight.

 

Jon furrowed a brow. “Is-is something going on between those two?”

 

Sansa hid a smile. “I think I’ll leave that to you to figure out, Jon. You’ve killed a white walker, defeated death, fought and won several battles against mighty army’s- this should be nothing for you to puzzle out.”

 

Jon smiled wickedly. “Cruel beautiful thing.” He teased.

 

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat.

 

“Beautiful?” She breathed out.

 

Jon didn’t stop looking into the glistening sapphires that were her eyes. “Beautiful,” He said softly.

 

They gazed at each other for a while until Jon shook himself out of his daze.

 

“I got you a gift too, Sansa.”

 

“You did?”

 

Jon nodded into the crowd and as if summoned, Arya popped out of the crowd looking disoriented and flushed with Gendry at her side. He was grinning widely. Behind them trailed a man carrying a lute. The hall quieted. Arya sat Gendry on her chair at the high table whilst she returned to sit on the edge of the table where she was perched next to Bran. Jon poured her some wine. She winked at him. The man began to speak.

 

“Your grace,” He bowed for Jon. “It is an honour… to be called to sing for the King In The North personally… you do me great honour.”

 

Jon bowed back. “The honour is mine, my Lord.”

 

The man bowed again. “Princess Sansa, Princess Arya and Prince Bran. Again, it is an honour to called before you. My name is Rhymund and I was the bard whom wrote wolf in the night- the song of your brother the late King’s victory at Oxcross. The North Remembers.”

 

“The North Remembers.” The room chanted back.

 

“In honour of King Robb, i'd like to start with wolf in the night- if it please your grace.”

 

Jon leaned back in his chair. “The floor is yours, my Lord.”

 

And so Rhymund the Rhymer sang. He sang wolf in the night and how the stars were the eyes of greywind and the wind itself was his song. He sang the seasons of my love- about the maid as red as autumn who had sunset for hair. He caroled the bear and the maiden fair: about the young maid who’d fallen in love with the hairy beast with black and brown fur. He intoned a time for wolves: a song he’d written about the retaking of Winterfell and the obstacles all the Starks had to overcome in order to reconcile as the strong pack they now were and how they’d **_never_ ** be conquered again. He sang the red wolf’s revenge- a song about Sansa and her defeat of Lord Baelish. He piped the dance of dragons in honour of Daenerys. He rendered the boy unbroken: the story of Bran and how though he couldn’t use his legs, he was one of the strongest men in the land. He played the many faced god in tribute to Arya and the tales of her legendary skill. He performed when ghosts return; about Jon and his resurrection. He sang and sang and sang. Until finally, he had one last song.

 

The Lady And Her Wolf.

 

It was slow and comely and had hidden meaning if you knew where to really listen. It was a song about love and romance and valiance. The kind of song Sansa would’ve loved as a girl. Perhaps a part of her still did love it. Always would. She closed her eyes and basked in its beauty.

 

“A King should dance amongst his people with his Queen,” Bran said to Jon quietly.

 

Jon looked over at Daenerys who was enjoying the music with her closest companions.

 

“I don’t think she wants to dance with me right now, Bran. I offended her. She’ll be upset with me for quite some time. Dragon’s don’t take insults no matter how meagre very lightly.”

 

“I doubt she could refuse. You are the King.”

 

“Yes,” Jon agreed. “I am King In The North- she is Queen of Six Kingdoms.”

 

“No. You are _The_ King, Jon. Besides, Daenerys wasn’t the Queen I was referring too.” With that, Bran called for one of the servants and asked to be taken to his chambers.

 

Jon muzzled over Bran’s words. He couldn’t possibly mean… could he? Cautiously, he looked to Sansa and his heart softened. She was taking in the music with her eyes closed; peacefully nodding her head to the chords of the instrument. Jon mustered up his courage. He knelt by her chair.

 

“Sansa,” he said quietly.

 

Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked toward him.

 

“Dance with me,” Jon said unsurely.

 

All Sansa could do was nod in disbelief and take his arm as he led her to the middle of the hall to dance amongst the others.

 

Gendry looked to Arya and opened his mouth.

 

“Don’t even think about it, Gendry.”

 

He smiled to himself. He should’ve seen that one coming.

 

Rhymund begun to sing the ballad.

 

_Do you know the tale,_

_Do you know the tale,_

_The tale of the lady and her wolf,_

_The lady was so fair,_

_Shining auburn hair,_

_As pale and as lovely as the snow,_

_But her husband had been gone for so very long_

_She didn’t know how much longer she could wait,_

_But he’d left his giant wolf_

_Winter’s very own,_

_You could see it was reflected in his coat_

_So she took the wolf to bed,_

_Kissed his lovely head,_

_The tale of the lady,_

_And the wolf,_

  


Jon took Sansa’s hand in his and slowly  began to twirl her about the room. Sansa was impressed at his finesse.

 

“I didn’t take you for a dancer, Jon.” Sansa whispered.

 

He grinned. “I assure you, Sansa. There’s talents of mine you’re yet to discover.”

 

She giggled _actually_ giggled in delight as Jon swept her up in his arms and spun her around. Rhymund still blissfully singing his song. Jon delicately placed her back on the floor and continued to lead. Sansa placed a hand around his neck. She told herself it was to help keep her balance after the spin but truthfully, she just wanted to be closer to him. As close as their sibling title would allow. Jon’s breath quickened. Being so close to her was both enchantingly pleasurable and agonisingly painful. To anyone else, it would look like a Lord entertaining his lady sister. But it more than that. So much more. Jon had to make sure to keep it that way lest his true feeling were exposed. He relaxed his shoulders and continued to dance.

 

“Selfish of him,” Sansa said quietly.

 

“What?” He asked her.

 

“Leaving his lady wife for so long.”

 

He was quiet for a moment and then. “Perhaps it was the only way,”

 

“To what?”

 

“... To protect her. Maybe the only way he could keep her safe was by-”

 

“By what, Jon?”

 

He looked at her. “By leaving her.”

  


_Do you know the tale,_

_Do you know the tale,_

_The tale of the lady and her wolf,_

_The winter was so cold,_

_The castle very old,_

_There was no more protection to be found,_

_So her Lord husband set out,_

_For a way to stop the curse,_

_He’d die before his lady were in pain,_

_But the journey was so long_

_So he left his humble wolf,_

_To protect his lady wife,_

_The tale of the lady,_

_And the wolf,_

  
  


Jon threw a triumphant look at Sansa. She rolled her eyes.

 

“Didn’t it occur to the Lord that him leaving could be more painful than any other horror that could befall her?”

 

He stilled momentarily. “You’d have him watch her die?” He questioned hoarsely.

 

Carefully Sansa said. “Isn’t it better to die with someone you love than to die alone and abandoned?”

 

He gulped quite visibly then clenched his jaw. Still, Jon offered no retort. He turned over her words in his head. Over their meaning. The weight of those words heavy on his chest.

  


_Do you know the tale,_

_Do you know the tale,_

_The tale of the lady and her wolf,_

_She’d almost lost all hope,_

_She’d felt O so afraid,_

_Her Lord husband yet to have returned,_

_So she took her wolf to bed,_

_Lay with him instead,_

_It was better than the taste of being alone,_

_But then she heard a noise,_

_From the very castle gates,_

_The men cheered that their lord had returned home,_

_The lord he took a knee,_

_He kissed his lovely wife,_

_Said he’d never leave her side e’er again,_

_Do you know the tale,_

_Do you know the tale,_

_The tale of the lady,_

_And the wolf,_

_Do you know the tale,_

_Do you know the tale,_

_The tale of the lady,_

_And her wolf,_

_The tale of the lady_

 

_And her wolf_

  


All dancing ceased and the hall burst into a massive applause. Rhymund bowed and then kneeled for Jon, Sansa and Arya. The revelry continued and Rhymund accepted goblets upon goblets of wine from highlords- and many offers to share the bed of the loveliest ladies.

 

Sansa and Jon still stood close together. Despite the chaos that ensued around them, they barely noticed- they were the only two people in the world.

 

“Sansa,” Jon whispered.

 

He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead softly. The kiss felt like the fluttering of snowflakes during a soft summer snow.

 

“I’d never abandon you. _Never._ But I’ll always do what I must to protect you… and Bran and Arya of course. I’ll do it even if it pains me to do so. _Please_ tell me you understand.”

 

She took a breath. She did understand. Even if she hated it. Even if being away from him caused her heart to ache severely.

 

“I do, Jon.” She held back tears. “You know I do.”

 

He brought her into his arms and embraced her. “I’ll always protect you. I promise.”

 

Sansa closed her eyes. Maybe there were still heroes in the world. And perhaps the songs weren’t all lies.

 

Daenerys angrily chugged down her wine never taking her eyes off of her lover with his conniving little sister. He held her so canninly. So lovingly. It made her stomach churn with an emotion foreign to her.

 

“Lord Varys,” She called out coldly.

 

“Your grace?”

 

She turned to him and put down her goblet deliberately gentle. It was a gesture that promised violence to come.

 

“Find out everything you can about Sansa Stark. _**Everything** .” _


	4. The Sixth Of His Name

Jon woke up from his slumber groggy and tired but he was not unsmiling. Memories of the night before flooded back to him and filled him with warmth. Drinking ale with Arya, messing around with Bran, laughing with Davos and Gendry and dancing  with Sansa.  _ Sansa.  _ Her name coursed through his body violently undoing every single thread of composure he had carefully sewn together to mask his ugly forbidden thoughts. Still, his guilt didn’t stop him from smiling at the memory. The feel of her soft delicate skin on his own, how her lovely eyes sparkled as he twirled her about the room and the surprised laugh that escaped her when she realised he wasn’t such a miserable dancer… it would be some time yet before he allowed himself to damper the memory. He sighed. Daenerys wasn’t pleased with him. Jon wasn’t a fool. They had come here together- as a King and Queen allies in the oncoming war. They’d come here as lovers. And yet since she’d been in Winterfell, Jon had barely seen her. He’d been far too focused on Sansa and the rest of his family- rightly so too- they had all just been reunited after enduring so much. But they had been back for nearly a week now and Jon knew if he didn’t act soon, Daenerys would grow suspicious if she wasn’t already. He could  _ not _ afford to get sloppy. He had to play the part he’d assigned himself; the desperate naive king who would give up his throne to save his people. Another helpless man who couldn’t help but submit to the wiles and beauty of the dragon queen. This was the mask he’d chosen to wear, the jig he had chosen to dance- and it wasn’t yet up. Not even close. He would spend the day with her after he and Sansa had went over the paperwork for the day and had convened with the Northern Lords. By the time the day was spent, Jon would see to it that Daenerys Targaryen had no reason to doubt how in love with her he was. He’d make sure of it. As the servants filed into the room to help prepare him for the day, Jon found himself thinking of Edd, Tormund and Sam. He missed them deeply. Especially Sam. He hoped they were all safe and that they’d arrive soon… hoped they’d arrive before the others. As his tunic was being adjusted for him- a rich forest green with gold embroidery which had been another gift from Sansa, his cupbearer Gerald entered the room. 

 

“Your grace,” He said with a bow. “Prince Bran has requested that you join him for breakfast in his chambers.”

 

Jon’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “I thought we were all supposed to break fast together in Princess Sansa’s chambers?”

 

Since arriving back home, Jon & his siblings had fallen into a routine of sorts. They would all receive breakfast together every single morning in the great hall. Because they had guests staying indefinitely, sometimes when acceptable, they would make sure to be served after everyone else so they could spend some quality time alone with one another. On days like today where they couldn’t be arsed to perform the formalities and duties that was expected of them, they took to receiving their meals in Sansa’s room as hers was the largest. 

 

Gerald shook his head. “No, your grace. The prince would like to speak to you alone. Princess Arya and Sansa will be dining in the great hall.”

 

Jon nodded his thanks to his cupbearer. Bran had said he’d wanted to talk to him at some point but every time he had brought it up, Bran had simply smiled wanly and said it was not yet time. Perhaps now it was. Jon gently placed Rob’s freshly polished crown on his head and took a deep breath. There was much to do today and he was already awfully exhausted. But he didn’t have the luxury of being tired. 

 

He was a King… and winter was here.

 

***

  
  
Jon looked at his brother across the table as he chewed his bacon quietly and smiled softly. It had been a matter of days since he’d been reunited with his brother as well as Arya and yet sometimes, he still didn’t think it was quite real. But Bran was here in his chambers sharing breakfast with him. He was safe. He was home; where he belonged. Where they  _ all _ belonged. Jon would be damned before he ever let anything separate them all ever again.   
  


“I’ve got something for you, Jon.” Bran said calmly.

 

Jon put down his goblet. “From Sansa practically showering me in finery and Arya plying me with wonderful wines and now you gifting me with something, you all might have to watch out. A man could get used to all this exuberance.” 

 

Bran smiled a gentle smile. The smile that was so like him and yet so unlike him now. 

 

“Not you Jon. You’re a northerner through and through. I could give you rags to wear and pissy ale to drink and you’d be completely happy as long as we were all safe together at home.” 

 

Jon laughed as he helped himself to more bread and cheese. “You’re right about that.”

 

Bran nodded at Gerald who proceeded to open the door. Standing there shifting his feet nervously from side to side was Sam. His face lit up upon seeing his dearest friend.  
  
  
  
“Sam!” Jon greeted jovially as he shot up from his chair and hurried to greet him.   
  
  
The men exchanged hugs: they were happy to be reunited after such a long time. Afterall, they knew better than most that returns weren’t always guaranteed.  
  
  
“It’s good to see you, Jon.” Sam said with a smile on his face.  
  
  
“When did you arrive in Winterfell- have you been hiding from me?” He asked only half joking.  
  
  
“Never,” Sam declared without hesitation. “Been here nearly two moons turns now- I came to help with the battle against the others. To help you defeat the Night King.”  
  
  
Jon smiled. They’d come a long way from the greenboys they’d once been when they’d first joined the night's watch. Life hadn’t been the kindest to them and yet still, here they stood. United to fight the threat against humanity. Jon was glad he’d have Sam by his side. He’d have it no other way. But then, Bran exchanged a look with Sam and his smile slowly began to falter though when he saw Jon observing, he tried to put on a front. Jon furrowed a brow.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam looked toward the floor.  
  


Bran looked toward Gerald the only servant who’s been allowed in the room- a fact that hasn’t been lost on Jon- and gestured toward the door.   


“Leave us.” He said but not unkindly. 

 

Once he had left, Jon saw Sam still hadn’t looked back toward him. 

  
“Is Gilly alright…? Little Sam?”  
  
  
Sam nodded meekly. But it wasn’t him who answered.  
  
  
“They’re fine, Jon,” Bran began slowly. “This isn’t about Sam… it’s about you.”  
  
  
“Me?” Jon asked his brother. “What about me?”  
  
  
“It’s about your mother,” Sam spoke softly.  
  
  
Instantly, Jon’s head snapped up and he was on full alert. Breakfast long forgotten. He had never known who his mother was, never knew whether she knew where he was or what he was doing. He’d spent ages thinking of whether she still thought of him. In some of his wildest dreams, he even imagined he’d find her one day and bring her back home with him.  
  
  
“What do you know of my mother?” He asked hoarsely.  
  
  
“Whilst I was in the citadel…. I-I came  across an old journal- a diary of an old Septon. In that diary, the Septon claimed he’d arranged an annulment between an Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen-”  
  
  
  
“I don’t see what this has to do with my mother-”  
  
  
“And performed a marriage ceremony between Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” Sam finished quietly.  
  
  
Jon took a step back and staggered. He hardly noticed it though. “That… it doesn't mean anything. I’m the son of Lord Eddard Stark. He’s my father.”  
  
  
“I saw it, Jon.” Bran stated clearly.  
  
  
Carefully and slowly, he turned around to face his brother.  
  
  
“I saw it,” Bran repeated again. “Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar performed a secret marriage ceremony in Dorne. He didn’t steal her, he didn’t rape her. He loved her. And she loved him. During Robert's Rebellion, Lyanna bore a babe. Father managed to fight his way into the tower of joy where she’d given birth but by then, it was too late. She was sure to die. Aunt Lyanna made father promise to protect the child with her dying breath. And he did. For all those years, he was true to his word. Here you are. Alive and well.”  
  
  
But Jon didn’t want to hear what Bran was saying. He couldn’t accept it- he would not. Before Bran had even finished talking, Jon had already been shaking his head.  
  
  
“Our father was just and honourable- the most just man I knew and you’re telling me he _lied_ to me?”  
  
  
  
“To protect you, Jon.” Sam interjected almost desperately. “Both Lady Lyanna and Lord Stark knew that if Robert knew of your existence, he’d kill you. Your father… Lord Stark loved you, Jon. He kept the truth from you so he could keep you safe.”  
  
  
  
Jon collapsed back onto his chair and for a while, he said nothing. His whole life he’d believed he was Jon Snow the bastard of Winterfell; he was only just beginning to embrace it. And now he was…  
  
  
“Who am I?” He whispered to nobody in particular.  
  
  


Sam looked at Jon wearily but there was unmistakable pride in his eyes as he spoke. “You are Aemon Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of The Realm.”  
  
  
No. He shook his head frantically. He… he couldn’t be.  
  
  
“You are Jon Snow, son of Lord Eddard Stark raised in Winterfell your home.” Bran came toward Jon and took his hand. “And you are my brother.”  
  


Bran was different; he was no longer the boy he used to be. His voice no longer dripped with the excitement of youth and his eyes didn’t shine in anticipation of his next adventure. But he was still Bran. And at moments like this, the old Bran came shining through. He was still his brother. That was more than enough for Jon. He loved him all the same.  
  
  
He squeezed Bran’s hand and stood up slowly. Jon looked at his brother and closest friend as warmly as possible, but his face was guarded.  
  
  
“Thank you for telling me.”  
  
  
Bran bowed his head and Sam tried his best to give an encouraging smile.  
  
“I-”  
  
“I’ll inform the Lords that you had pressing matters to attend too.”  
Bran interjected smoothly.   
  
  


“Aye. Pressing matters.”   
  
  


“And I’ll tell Queen Daenerys that you will join her as soon as you are free.” 

 

Jon nodded weakly no longer really listening. With that, he left the room.

 

  
He needed to be alone with his thoughts. To think about what this all meant and how it would affect him and his family moving forward. He wasn’t surprised when he looked up and found himself in the crypts. He felt the urge to laugh at the irony of it all. Because there in front of him next to her brother, was Lyanna Stark. His mother.   
He stared at her statue and let out the deepest of sighs. He stared and stared and stared. He stood there for hours on end, tears falling from his eyes just looking at her lovely face. Jon recalled stories of Lyanna that he’d heard whispered amongst the small folk-  _ never _ from his father. He never ever talked about her. Had never healed from her loss. But Jon knew from echoes and whispers he’d heard that Ned Stark had loved his lady sister with his whole heart: adored her so much that he had risked his life protecting her son. It was all so much to take in. He was a King once more and Daenerys… his stomach churned. Daenerys’s was his aunt. Jon nearly collapsed at the thought- Aunt  _ and _ lover. The thought was sickening. Still, the cogs in Jon’s mind were already moving away from that and plotting the best way to use this information. He’d need to talk to Sansa at some point- she was the politician she would know how to spin this new information to their advantage, how to use it to secure independence for the North and crush their enemies. He sat on the floor near his mothers statue and put his face in his hands. Jon thought his head may explode. There were far too many thoughts racing through his mind; he couldn’t keep track of them all. Suddenly, his heart started to beat ferociously. His mother had married a Targaryen- he couldn’t call Rhaegar his father- Ned would  _ always  _ be his father. And yet the fact remained that Ned wasn’t his blood father which meant that Sansa…  _ Sansa was not his sister.  _ Sansa was his cousin.  _ His cousin.  _ A hoarse laugh escaped from his throat as he slowly let the implications of this discovery dawn upon him and what it could mean for him. For them. Possibilities that he would’ve never let himself dream in a million years raced through him. And just like that, he had found light in the seemingly dark fortress that was the nightmare of his new found identity crisis. 

  
  


Because now, when he remembered that he was Aemon Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of The Realm, he was not immediately filled with confusion, doubt and a sense of betrayal. He was filled with hope. 

 

**_He was a bastard turned King… and if she’d have him, he may actually be able to claim his Queen._ **


End file.
